


Hoodie

by leere



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Asexual Character, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Dark Comedy, Friends With Benefits, Ghosts, Love Triangles, M/M, Mild Gore, Mild Sexual Content, Mind Control, Misunderstandings, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Possession, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Soulmates, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-15 11:44:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13030356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leere/pseuds/leere
Summary: It all starts when Kenny asks Butters if he knows what autoerotic asphyxiation is.





	Hoodie

**Author's Note:**

> I'm doing something that has been the downfall of many other writers, and that's starting another multi-chapter fic when my other one isn't yet finished. But this one has been so many years in the making, I just had to. And OBOITD will continue, don't worry about that. If you haven't read that fic yet, and you like my writing style, maybe go check it out? It's darker, and it's Kyman, but you might like it if you're into mysteries and suspense and the like.
> 
> This is gonna be a relatively short (20k words, maybe three to five chapters?) humor/angst fic. It's kinda a conglomeration of several things I've wanted to write for years, including but not limited to Butters accidentally killing Kenny during kinky sex, Cartman being asexual, and Kyle&Stan being useless but caring dads. So, yeah - strap in, guys, 'cause this is gonna be a fun ride. It's a little dark and a little gorey at parts, so be warned. Also, what is with me and making Butters a murderer? Lmfao. I love the little dude, idk why I do this to him.
> 
> Happy New Years! I'm currently drinking a white Russian and contemplating the meaninglessness of existence - perfect way to start of the year, yeah? Ugh. I'm also drowning in Kylux, of all fucking ships. I'm not losing interest in SP, though, no worries. OBOITD will be updated soon, I swear.

It all starts when Kenny asks Butters if he knows what autoerotic asphyxiation is.

They're making out languidly in Butters' bed, because his parents aren't home and Kenny knows how to disable the cameras that are placed around the house. Butters is just reaching for the other boy's belt when Kenny puts a hand on his chest.

Butters sits up, perched gingerly on Kenny's lap. The poverty-striken boy is two inches taller, but he's so skinny that Butters is always sure he'll crush him. He searches Kenny's face. "Is everythin' okay? I'm not hurtin' you, am I?"

Kenny shakes his head. He's still in his hoodie - Butters doesn't know how he does that. He gets so damn hot when they're kissing like this, and he wants to take all his clothes off, but Kenny always keeps that damn jacket on - though, thankfully, he's taken the hood off. Butters doesn't question it, or protest it, but he sure would like to see Kenny's chest every once in a while.

The orange-clad boy reaches up and cups Butters' chin. Butters likes when he does that. Usually it's the prelude to a kiss, but today Kenny merely holds his face softly in his callused grip. Butters is a little bit far-sighted - not too much that he needs glasses, but enough that Kenny's face goes completely blurry this close up. All he sees is pale skin and bright blue eyes.

"Butters," Kenny says softly. "Do you know what autoerotic asphyxiation is?"

"Ain't that when ya choke yourself while ya beat off?" Kenny's been rubbing off on him - literally and figuratively. He no longer calls dicks 'wieners', for example, and he doesn't blush at the mere mention of sex.

"Sorta. Or," he says pointedly, "it can be where your  _partner_  chokes you during sex."

Butters isn't the naive boy he once was. He raises his eyebrows. "You want me ta choke ya? W-won't that hurt ya?"

"I trust you," Kenny says softly, unzipping his hoodie a little - just enough so his neck is visible, and the top of his stained wife-beater. "I mean, if you're not comfy with it, that's cool. I get it."

"No, no, I'll - I can do it." Butters places his hands lightly around Kenny's neck - not pressing, just framing it. He looks down, at his ruddy knuckles and his freckled hands around Kenny's pale and fragile neck, and thinks vaguely that they're making art right now.

Kenny closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He opens them again, and looks at Butters. "Here, we'll work out the safety shit beforehand, okay? Don't freak. So, okay, I'm gonna jerk off while I do it. If I stop jerking off, take your hands off immediately, okay? Uh... tell ya what, I'm gonna - I'll do thumbs ups to dictate, like, if you're doing good. Thumbs up means harder, thumbs down means less. 'Cause communication is important, and stuff." He squints at Butters. "Have you ever seen porn where people do this?"

Butters shakes his head. "I ain't seen any porn for a few years. My dad blocked all those sites."

"Well, basically, it's about control. I'm giving you control. Can you handle that, Butters?"

As always, the intensity in Kenny's eyes makes Butters melt. He'll be the first to admit he's attracted to determination, always has been. He nods, unblinking; transfixed by Kenny's cool gaze. He'd follow Kenny to the ends of the earth if he kept looking at him like that.

"Good," Kenny says. "So you're gonna choke me. You're gonna wanna do it in, uh - what's the word for, like, small doses of somethin' that - that increase?"

"Increments?"

"Yeah! Yeah, increments. Do it in increments. Choke for three seconds, lemme breathe for a two, choke for five seconds, lemme breath for four. Build up, y'know?" Kenny pauses, clearly thinking hard about something, before adding, "Multiples of two, actually. Like, uh, add two. To each. Yeah. Start with four seconds, choking, like, and then lemme breathe for...two. Then choke for six, lemme breath for three. Sound good? Don't stop unless my hand stops, 'kay?"

Kenny knows Butters is mathematically brained - that it's his comfort zone. Butters appreciates that immensely, that Kenny cares enough about him that he even bothered to learn how to cater to his way of thinking, even if it seems over-complicated on the surface. He smiles, shakily. He's anxious, but it's overshadowed by his eagerness to please. "I can do that."

"Awesome. Okay, straddle me, but don't apply your weight, yeah? Put weight into your arms instead. It's better that way. Also, so I can reach my dick."

Kenny lays down fully, flat on his back, and Butters arranges himself as he's told, so he's holding himself over Kenny's body, knees on either side of his torso, but not sat on his stomach.

"Hold on," Kenny say, brow furrowed in concentration. "Tryna get my belt off. Can't see passed you."

"Want me to-?"

"Uh uh, I got it-" Butters watches Kenny's face as he focuses on undoing his belt. There's a little  _clink_  sound, and Kenny grins. "Ha."

Butters twists around, trying to see. Kenny's reaching around him to fist his dick, which he's pulled from his boxers.

"Alright," Kenny sighs, relaxing. His body's shifted in a way that looks uncomfortable, but he doesn't seem to mind. "So. Right hand's on my dick, left hand's gonna be up here communicatin'." His left hand rests on the pillow beside his head. "Remember: thumbs up means you're good, thumbs down means ease up. Got that?"

"Yeah," Butters says. He doesn't mind doing this, as long as it makes Kenny happy. Still, it's daunting. Mostly, he's worried he'll screw it up, and Kenny won't enjoy it. "You're - you're sure this is safe?"

"Hundred percent," Kenny says, flashing Butters his adorably gapped-tooth grin. "And afterwards, I'll suck you off, and we'll watch a movie. And if you don't like this, we'll never do it again. Sound good?"

"Yessir," Butters says softly, hands around Kenny's throat again. He squeezes a bit. It's quiet in his room, and he can hear a basketball thumping outside, and a car honking in the distance. He thinks he can hear his own heartbeat, but that might just be his imagination.

Kenny gives a thumbs up. Butters squeezes a little tighter, and he can feel Kenny's hand working on his dick. He watches his face, tries to keep the worried look off of his own. Kenny's showed him a whole world of sexual pleasures, each more wonderful than the last, and usually he seems content with getting Butters off with no reciprocation. Very rarely has he asked for something specific, but Butters has a feeling he's been wanting to do this for a while.

It's no secret that Kenny's had multiple sexual encounters before - the simple fact was that Kenny never trusted any of his sex partners the way he trusted the small blonde boy.

Butters knows this, and it's why he's doing this at all, despite his apprehension.

It's also part of why he's kind of totally in love with Kenny McCormick.

He's counting in his head:  _one...two...three...four..._

He lets go, and Kenny sucks a breath in.

"You okay?" he asks.

"Multiples of two," Kenny says. "Do it again."

Butters does as he's told. He counts to six, watching Kenny's face. His eyes are closed and his cherry red lips are parted - if Butters didn't know better, he'd think he was sleeping.

He lets go, and counts to three while Kenny sucks in another breath.

Again. Eight seconds. He can feel Kenny's heartbeat through his hands.

Again. Ten seconds. Kenny's hand is moving faster on his dick. That's good - that means Butters is doing a decent job.

Around sixteen seconds, Kenny's face starts to turn a little red. Butters pulls his hands away instantly. "Aw, jeez, Ken, you're gettin' all red in the face! I think it's time ta stop."

Kenny turns his head to the side and coughs, but manages to splutter, "One more! Do it for a minute."

"A minute?" Butters balks. "Ken, l-listen, I wanna help ya out, I really do, but this is scary stuff! A minute could really hurt ya! I don't w-want ya gettin' brain damage or somethin'!"

Kenny's voice is raspy, but he's determined. "Butters," he says firmly. "If I stop beating off, then you stop. But this is gonna work, I swear. It'll be the best orgasm I've ever had, and it'll be all thanks to you."

"I dunno, I'm just - I just think-"

"Hey," Kenny says gently. "I trust you. Do you trust me?"

Butters doesn't have to think about that. He nods.

Kenny smiles. "Good. Then trust me when I say nothing bad will happen. I  _promise_."

* * *

At 1:36pm, on a quiet Tuesday, Stan gets a hysterical call from one Butters Stotch.

"Fuckin' phone's ringing," Kyle mumbles into his pillow. It's summer, and it's insanely hot, so he's only got his boxers on.

Stan's spent the last ten minutes trying to count the freckles on his boyfriend's back. He lifts his head. "Huh?"

"S'buzzing." Kyle kicks at Stan, weakly, but misses. "Under the pillow."

Stan groans, but drags himself up the bed and reaches beneath the pillow. "It's Butters," he says aloud, staring incredulously at the picture of a tub of butter he's set as the boy's contact photo. 

"Can't believe it," Kyle mutters.

"That was a bad joke that didn't even make sense," Stan tells him.

"Answer the phone, you fucking pleb."

Stan does, and Kyle rolls onto his side to watch him.

"Yello?" Stan says.

"What are you, a middle-aged white dad?" Kyle starts to say, but he stops when he sees Stan's eyebrows draw together. He sits up and watches him, frowning.

"Woah, woah, calm down, Butters," Stan says, and he puts the phone on speaker. "Kyle's here, too. What happened?"

"I killed Kenny!" Butters wails on the other end.

Kyle, inexplicably, has to swallow down the urge to say, 'You bastard!'

Instead, he says, "What?"

"Yeah," Stan says, "what?"

"I - I - can you guys please c-come over? I'm real scared, an' I'm f-freakin' out-"

"Breathe, Butters," Kyle says. "We'll be right over. Your house, right?"

"Yeah," Butters says. His voice is shaking.

"We'll be right there."

"Okay," Butters says weakly, and then he hangs up.

Kyle launches himself off the bed and grabs at his clothes, which are draped neatly over his desk chair.

Stan's already fully dressed, in a white muscle tee that he's sweat through. He's in red basketball shorts that hang loosely off him.

"Ball sweat stain," Kyle tells him, as he pulls his own shorts on.

"Shit," Stan says, looking down at his crotch. "Oh, well. It'll dry."

"You're fuckin' gross."

"Our friend's a murderer."

"Yeah, I guess that's a little more important."

Gerald's sat downstairs reading the newspaper when they try to leave. "Where are you boys heading?"

"Stan needs his phone charger," Kyle says hurriedly, opening the door for Stan, who jogs down the front stairs. "Bye, Dad!"

"We have chargers here," Gerald says.

"He has an iPhone," Kyle says, slamming the door shut.

"So do we," Gerald says to the empty room. He sighs and turns the page to the funnies.

* * *

They're at Kyle's house, which isn't far from the Stotch residence - they can see it from the front porch. They just have to get passed Stan's and Cartman's houses. Stan's is no big deal, but Cartman's the one they have to worry about.

They run as fast as they can, but it's no use; the front door's flying open, and Cartman's in standing in the doorway, in a t-shirt and boxers, wielding the top half of a coat rack. "I knew it!" he shouts. "You assholes aren't sick! You lied!"

"We're busy, fatass!" Kyle yells.

"We'll explain later!" Stan adds.

"Fags," Cartman scoffs, although he's hardly one to talk. He watches as they disappear behind Butter's house - heading into his backyard, perhaps?

 _Those hormone-riddled gaywads are probably gonna have a dirty sex party,_  he thinks spitefully.

He glares at Butters' house and shuts his door.

He turns around to head into his own backyard to spy further, but he flies back into the door in surprise at the sight of a transparent Kenny sat on his couch. He's trying in vain to pick up a piece of popcorn out of the bowl that's on the couch, but his hand passes through. He sighs and looks up.

"'Sup, fat boy?" he says by way of greeting. He looks Cartman up and down. "Quit acting like a surprised damsel, dude. I always pop in on you, you should be used to it by now."

Cartman lifts his coat rack threateningly. "Don't test me, asshole! Not in the fucking mood."

"Aw, what's wrong, wittle baby?" Kenny teases, floating up and over to Cartman in that annoying way he does. "Your boyfriend not texting you back again?"

"Fuck off," Cartman says, narrowing his eyes at Kenny. " Go back to hell, where you belong."

"He probably _is_ having a threesome with Stan and Kyle," Kenny taunts, doing a somersault mid-air. He spins so he's right side up and makes eye contact with Cartman as he slowly says, "I bet they're both fucking him _right now_."

"Get out of my head!" Cartman yells, and he rushes Kenny, out for blood, but, of course, Kenny doesn't have a physical body, so Cartman goes right through him and slams into the wall.

Kenny laughs merrily at him, floating near the ceiling. "Dude, c'mon, don't do stupid shit like that. Use your head. Oh, shit, wait, you did. Don't get a concussion, okay? I can't use you if you're all..concussed."

Cartman turns around, rubbing at his forehead. If they were in an old cartoon, he'd have a big red bump coming out of his head right about now. But they're in reality - well, something like it - so he just has a headache.

He bares his teeth at Kenny, vicious. "You're not using my body again, asshole. I fucking hate when you do that. Just hurry up and come back."

"Can't yet. Every hundred deaths, I stay dead for a few weeks. I don't know why, Satan doesn't know why - trust me, I've asked him. We think it's a cool down period." Kenny waves his hand dismissively. "Not like I mind. It's nice to not have to deal with life for a while." He frowns at Cartman. "I've explained this already."

"I forgot." Cartman, who's no longer irate, props his weapon up against the wall. "How'd you get killed this time, dumbass?"

"Jerked off too hard," Kenny smirks.

"Funny," Cartman deadpans. He goes to sit on the couch and falls heavily onto it, legs sprawled. Kenny sinks down to "sit" cross-legged beside him. "What do you wanna use me for this time?"

"Taking care of Butters, and maybe Karen," Kenny says. "As always."

Kenny doesn't think Cartman realizes it - and he sure is glad because, damn, would Cartman exploit it - but he's a little bit dependent on the heavier boy. Whenever he dies, his access to the living world is cut off until he wakes up the next day. Usually he's patient enough to wait it out, and while it hurts him that there are a few people who actually acknowledge his absence and hurt because of it, he realizes it'd be redundant to do something about it every single time. However, when these longer-lasting death periods roll around, it's weighs a lot heavier on his conscience. He could hang out with Satan for the month or so he's stuck being dead, and try not to think about the pain his family and friends are feeling, since they'll forget all about it once he comes back, but he's tried that, and it'd been a miserable experience all around.

That's where Cartman comes in. For reasons unknown to anyone other than maybe an all-knowing deity, the two of them have some kind of strange, spiritual connection. They were both aware of it, although neither knew why it was, or how it came to be. Cartman had dubbed it "gay as fuck", or so he'd told Kenny when they were ten.

Kenny gets a kick out of it, though he sometimes wishes he had a nicer, less sociopathic soulmate. Which was what they were, really, according to Satan, the first time Kenny was able to bring it up to him.

"Sometimes I hear Cartman's thoughts," he'd confessed, while sat on the bed of the Devil himself, after a particularly gruesome death, when he was twelve or so. "And I, like, possessed his body once or twice. Like, Exorcist-level shit. What does that mean?"

Satan had been, ironically, cleaning out his huge walk-in closet, throwing old outfits on the bed beside Kenny to get rid of. He was single at the time, so Kenny was able to talk to him without being interrupted by a certain obnoxious terrorist. "You mean that fat kid you hang out with?"

"Uh huh," Kenny had answered. "The fat kid. Sometimes I swear I can hear his thoughts. And sometimes he looks at me really weird, so I think maybe he hears mine, or he knows I'm in his head."

"Oh! Well, obviously, you two are, um. Soulmates." Satan had peeked out of the closet and smiled brightly at his young friend. "That's kinda cute. I'm a little jealous. Not everyone meets their soulmate in preschool, you know."

Kenny had blanched at that - "Soulmates? Doesn't that mean we're supposed to be in love or something? I fucking hate that fat fuck, and he hates me! We're not fucking soulmates!" - but a little explaining from Satan had cleared things up. While Satan didn't understand why Kenny was immortal, or how he'd managed to unwittingly imprint on Cartman, he did know about soulmates, and that, generally, love had nothing to do with it. Romantic love, anyway. He told Kenny that a lot of soulmates do end up falling in love, although, more often, regular couples will claim they're soulmates when they're really not. In most cases, soulmates maintain a firm platonic relationship.

Satan had clarified: "Do you ever see two men who've been best friends for decades? For example, in celebrities, when their friendships last ten times longer than their marriages?"

"Like Ben Affleck and Matt Damon?"

Satan had nodded knowingly. " _Those_  are soulmates."

Kenny has since concluded Jimbo and Ned are probably soulmates. The boys have always kind of assumed they were gay, but he figures this makes more sense.

At the time, he'd asked Satan, "So, what, I'm destined to spend my life with that fat bastard?"

"No. Like I said, your immortality changes things. He's a mortal, and you're not. Because of that, there's a more...supernatural side to things."

That's how Kenny found out exactly how much power he had over Cartman.

It'd taken him years to learn how to do all the things that were described to him that day. It was complicated stuff - he was playing with fire, Satan warned him, but he didn't heed. He was only concerned with the perks. He's still only concerned with the perks, though he's a bit more cautious these days.

As long as he's dead, he can travel between realms as he pleases, since he's a favorite of Satan's. While on Earth, he's not capable of interacting with the living - except Cartman. He can communicate with him and, better yet,  _possess_  him - control his actions, read his mind, feel his emotions. Kenny can seize complete control over him whenever he wants to, and Cartman doesn't have any choice but to let him. He's his  _puppet_.

Kenny had admittedly abused this power a few times, though Satan had warned him to be sure not to accidentally kill Cartman. "Unlike you," he'd said, "if you kill him, he's gone. You can visit him here, but without a physical body, he's useless to you."

Kenny didn't actually end up using his 'powers' too much, by the time he could use them at will. It took a year or two to effectively hijack Cartman's body without being randomly booted out of it. He was occasionally able to do this back in their elementary school days, before he was aware of their bond, but only by chance. Back then, Cartman would be very aware of Kenny's presence inside him, and often, he'd force Kenny out. But by now, Kenny had mastered the skill. He could put Cartman's mind to sleep and take over completely, or he could hang out in the back of Cartman's consciousness and creep on him. If he wanted, he could even make himself known and be an annoying voice in Cartman's head, but he decided that was a bad idea. He occasionally even dared to plant ideas in Cartman's head, Inception-style, but that was tricky stuff, so he did that sparingly.

The best part was that, for a few years, Cartman knew nothing of this peculiar bond they shared - besides a few little incidents, and his remarkable awareness of Kenny's demises (and his remarkable inability to care about them). Kenny sometimes thought how nice it would be to gloat about it, but he figured that was a bad idea. It was better if Cartman didn't know. It gave him even more control.

It started very innocently. He'd hang out in Cartman's head while he went about his day - enjoying Cartman's bizarre inner monologue, observing the way he acted behind closed doors with no one watching, sometimes making him say things to get him in trouble. Then he got mischievous. He'd put Cartman's consciousness to sleep and force his body to do crazy shit around town that he wouldn't dare do as himself. He never let Cartman get caught, though; and as a result, Cartman never knew. He'd wake up sore from the night's activities, but he never found out he'd unwittingly tagged town hall with a giant pink dick, or shit on the steps of the school, or whatever other dumb plan he concocted.

That went on whenever Kenny felt like it, until he got bored. One time, very stupidly, he'd stripped Cartman naked and ran around town - but then the cops arrested him for public indecency, and Kenny bounced. It was funny as hell to everyone, but Cartman had insisted he'd been possessed. No one believed him, obviously, but Kenny decided he wouldn't do anything like that again. Too risky.

He still hijacked Cartman sometimes, though. Often, he'd just sit and eat everything in Cartman's fridge - just to taste food he could never afford in his own body. It was pretty pathetic, he supposed.

More often, he just hung out in the back of Cartman's mind, where he could hear his thoughts. He quickly grew bored of that power, too. Cartman's thoughts were pretty much everything he said out loud, which was lame. The upside was that it didn't take long to learn how to search his mind for information and memories, which was cool as hell, especially for academic-related stuff. Cartman didn't pay attention in school, but he was intelligent in a didn't-have-to-try way, and he was knowledgeable about the things he was interested in. Cheating on tests became a lot easier after that, and Kenny's grades went up significantly.

Because of all this, he considered himself somewhat of an Eric Cartman expert - although he wasn't sure if that was really anything to be proud of. The funny thing was, even though he could feel and think the same things as Cartman, he still couldn't _understand_ him. He figures this is because Cartman doesn't understand himself, either.

Of course, he needed to be dead to do any of this, so he got into the habit of killing himself daily for a while there, when he first discovered this ability, simply because it was something  _new_. He'd grown tired of the monotony of his constant deaths. This was something exciting.

Until it wasn't. Until he got bored.

But then Butters happened.

Butters, with his adorably fucked up smile, and his bright and colorful outlook on things, and his enthusiasm for everything, and his fluffy hair, and his soft skin, and his pink lips. Butters, who was officially dating _Cartman_. Cartman, who wasn't interested in sex - which resulted in the heated affair Butters and Kenny have had for five months now. The affair that was supposed to be strictly about sex.

Butters, who Kenny was madly, beautifully, aggressively in love with.

Butters, who he could only tell 'I love you' to while in Cartman's body.

Butters, who believed it.

"What's with you and Butters, anyway?" Cartman's saying. "It's like you're obsessed with him or something. Stay off his dick, dude."

 _If only you knew_ , Kenny thinks. He was forced to tell Cartman about their bond after an unfortunate incident a year and a half ago - but he never let Cartman know exactly what he _did_  during his hijacking adventures. He frowns. "Cartman, you realize Butters and I are close friends, right? He's gonna be really fucked up over my 'death', dude, like he always is."

He had a point. Since Kenny and Cartman are the only ones who can remember Kenny's deaths, or people's reactions to said deaths, they're the only ones who see how upset Butters is every single time. There was a particular death that Butters was partially responsible for, and the kid was so upset over it, he'd tried to kill himself. Thankfully he'd been stopped in time, but the memory still hurts Kenny to think about.

Because of the nature of his death this time, he's worried that history will repeat itself.

That's why Kenny's here, dealing with Cartman, who's as infuriating as ever.

Currently, Kenny crosses his arms. "We need to make sure that we're there for him after he gets the news. He's gonna take it hard."

"Fine, I'll get my mom to make him some cookies and I'll watch some faggy movie with him and let him cuddle up to me. Big deal." Cartman stands and heads into the kitchen. Kenny waits tensely until he returns with a bag of potato chips. He shoves a handful into his mouth, and tells Kenny, "I don't need you for that."

Kenny purses his lips, but he can't argue without exposing the true nature of his relationship with Butters.

Instead, he floats up off the couch and starts to approach Cartman.

"No, no," Cartman says, dropping the bag onto the ground and backing away until his back's against the wall. The entryway to the kitchen is a few feet away, and he's eyeing it as an escape route. "I'm putting my foot down, Kinny!" he announces, trying to shrink away. "You stay the fuck out of me! It's a violation of my goddamn privacy!"

Kenny puts his feet down so he's standing, even though there's no need to walk, and he reaches out to touch Cartman's bare arm, hand materializing into something sort of resembling a psychical form. It's a trick he learned recently; Satan had told him about it, and had warned him to only use it when absolutely necessary. The contact shocks both of them, but it's different; for Cartman, it just feels like a painful stab of cold air. For Kenny, it feels like a rush of  _life_.

The brunette jerks back, unnerved by Kenny's frigid touch. Kenny pulls his hand away, and it fizzles out of existence once more. He watches as Cartman looks at his arm in horror.

The skin in the spot where Kenny had touched him has instantaneously disintegrated, leaving the bone exposed. There's no blood, it's a clean wound, but that doesn't take away from how grisly it is.

Cartman starts screaming, out of fear or pain, he's not sure. Kenny's never done this before, so he doesn't know. He's a little concerned, but he decides to role with it. He merges easily with Cartman's body, which is too preoccupied to try to keep him out, and forces his consciousness back, where it's not in control. Cartman shuts up out loud, but in his head, he's still screaming.

 ** _Touch of death_** , Kenny tells him. Now that he's in Cartman's head, he can feel the things he feels, and now he knows; it's not pain, at least not in the physical sense. It's a mental sort of pain, something terrifyingly dark. Something deathly.

Kenny's finding it hard to concentrate, so he moves all of that horrible feeling to Cartman's consciousness, rather than his, so he can concentrate and dig around in his own mind for the solution.

He can't remember, so he simply touches his fingers to the spot, and they press against bone; smooth, solid bone. A rather large bone, too.

**_No kidding! Hey, fatass, you really are big boned! Haha!_ **

Then, before his eyes, the skin heals up cleanly, until it was like nothing even happened. The inexplicable feeling that had enveloped Cartman simmers down, and Kenny prods at the arm. Like new.

Cartman shuts up. His mind is loud right now; chaotic. Kenny quiets it best he can, then says,  ** _Are you gonna be good, or do I have to shut you down?_**

 _ **Fuck you** , _Cartman answers, and it's so venomous he'd be scared for his sake - if he wasn't literally in control of him.

 **Mouth off again and I'll do that on your dick,** Kenny tells him.

He can moderate what Cartman hears from him, but Cartman doesn't know how to do that, so Kenny has to listen to his stream of consciousness,  which is something like:  _ **FuckyouKennyyoufuckingmagicpsychofuckyouyoufuckingdemonfuckpieceofshitfuckingfuckerbodysnatchingfuckbagshitcuntmyfuckingarmfuck-**_

Kenny turns down the volume and looks around. When he's alive, Kenny's got 20/20 vision, and when he's dead, the world is a little hazy because he doesn't belong in it. But in Cartman's body, everything is slightly blurred and very saturated. The fatass needs glasses but refuses to wear them, which explains the blur, but the saturated worldview is unusual, and confuses Kenny, seeing as feelings are muted when he's in Cartman's body, but colors aren't. He doesn't feel in the same way Kenny does - he hardly feels at all - yet the world is so much brighter for him. Kenny wonders why that is, but he always forgets to ask Satan.

He sits down and kicks his feet up, reaching for the popcorn bowl. If Kenny was in his own body, it'd be far too buttery for him, but Cartman's adapted, so it tastes delicious.

 ** _That's my fucking popcorn, you son of a bitch!_** Cartman's yelling, loud even after Kenny's quieted him, so the blonde silences him completely. He's still there, an angry presence in Kenny's metaphorical peripheral vision, but Kenny can't hear a word.

He'll go check on Butters in about an hour, he figures, and turns the TV's volume up.

* * *

"Where the hell is he?" Kyle raps on the sliding glass door for a fourth time.

Stan presses his face to the glass and looks inside, though he's already done this. Nothing has moved since they peeked in three minutes ago. He looks at Kyle, brows furrowed. "He said he killed Kenny, right? Maybe he's, like, washing the blood off his hands or something. It's probably a really bad idea to be here right now."

"He sounded pretty freaked. I think it was just an accident of some kind."

Stan looks at Kyle, mildly panicked, just as Butters hurls himself down the stairs and toward the door.

He unlocks it and tugs it open, then stands, hyperventilating.

The boys take him in. He's shirtless, skinny chest on display, and in a pair of loose-fitting sweatpants. His hair's a mess, and his eyes are blown wide. His eyes are red and his cheeks are flushed, like he's been crying. 

No blood. That's a good sign.

"What the hell happened?" Kyle asks.

"Come in, come in," he urges, gesturing widely and looking around behind them. "Don't want no one ta see us."

"Butters," Kyle prods.

Butters slams the door shut, locks it again, then crumbles to the ground, hugging his arms tight to his chest. "I messed up real bad," is all he says, real quietly.

Kyle sits down across from him, and looks up at Stan, who shrugs. The redhead reaches out and puts a hand on his friend's knee. "Butters," he repeats, gently. "Tell us what's going on."

"Ya can't tell Eric!" Butters lifts his head, tears brimming in his eyes. "Ya tell Eric, and he'll be real sore at me, an' I really don't want him ta be sore at me."

"What's Cartman have to do with anything?" Stan asks. He crouches down beside Kyle.

Butters looks between them, bordering on hysterical, before he bows his head, bottom lip trembling. "Me and Kenny were havin' an affair."

Stan's eyebrows shoot up, and he looks at Kyle in shock. Kyle's a little more slow on the uptake, or maybe he just won't let himself comprehend that. "Excuse me, what?" he asks, incredulously.

"I was cheatin' on Eric," Butters whispers, before burying his head in his arms and beginning to sob.

Stan moves to sit next to Butters and rub his back, while Kyle stares at the ground and tries to wrap his head around this reality. He'd never understood why Butters and Cartman were even together in the first place. He'd discussed it with Wendy once, who's been in his psych class for two years, and she'd told him that she'd chalked it down to their shared daddy issues.

"Cartman needs validation and attention, and Butters needs discipline and order. They need each other. They're co-dependent."

Those had been her words. Kyle only half-believed them. He tended to think it was more about keeping each other company than anything entirely psychological. Butters and Cartman were the rejects. No one would give them the time of day. Butters was cute, but people got fed up with his unassertive nature pretty quickly, and Cartman was obviously an asshole who could only be tolerated in very small doses. But though Butters annoyed Cartman, and Cartman was a dick to Butters, they complimented each other well. If only because no one else would put up with either of them. 

Except for...Kenny?

"Why didn't you just dump Cartman?" Stan asks, and though Kyle's thinking the same thing, he figures it's not the time for a question like that. He tries to shoot a warning look at Stan, but the noirette doesn't look up.

"Because he's sweet!" Butters sobs, tiny body shuddering with the force of his dry-heaving. "You fellas don't see it, but behind closed doors, Eric is so kind, and wonderful, and incredible, he really is! He brings me gifts an' tells me he loves me, a-and he cuddles me! And he compliments me. I swear he does. He says all sorts a' nice things. But with Kenny an' me, it's nothin' but sex! There ain't nothin' more to it! I suppose he's real nice durin' it and all, but that doesn't change the fact that it's still just sex!"

Kyle frowns. This was...a lot to take in. 

"I love Eric," Butters is mumbling, mouth pressed up against his knee as he hugs himself tightly. "I swear I do."

Stan looks helplessly at Kyle. 

"Listen," the redhead says, deciding to take charge. "This is fine. We'll get it sorted out." He leans forward. "Hey. Butters, listen. You need to tell us exactly what we're dealing with. Was it an accident?"

"Sorta," Butters says weakly, staring at a spot on the ground. "I-I-we were foolin' around, ya see, and he - well, he wanted me ta - to choke him. Just a little, just in an erotic sorta way, yanno?"

"You accidentally strangled him," Kyle concludes. 

Another tear drips down Butter's cheek. "Yeah," he whispers. "I didn't mean to, I really didn't-"

"We know you didn't, Butters," Stan says now, rubbing Butters' back. Kyle smiles at him, just to show him that he appreciates him remaining level-headed, but Stan's not looking at him. "We just have to figure out how we're gonna cover this up," he tells the little blonde. "So you don't get in trouble."

"But I should!" Butters yells, startling both Stan and Kyle. The blonde rarely gets angry, so it's surprising to hear him shout, even if he has good reason to. And he does right now, considering the circumstances. "I should be locked up forever and ever! I killed Kenny! I killed him, I took his life... I-I did that! I can't jus' get away with it!"

"Butters," Kyle says firmly, "it's different. Knowing Kenny, that's exactly how he'd wanna go out - and it's fucked up he used you to fulfill his freaky fantasy, but you shouldn't have to suffer because he was a fucking deviant! As far as I'm concerned, this was a suicide, and you're innocent, and I'm not letting you get blamed fo-"

"Shh," Stan says suddenly, and Kyle stops talking, then goes to glare at him for interrupting, before he hears it, too; the sound of faint screaming. Stan looks alarmed. "Is that Cartman?"

Butters sniffles. "Yeah, that happens sometimes." He rests his head on his knees, looking for all the world like a puppy that's been scolded. "I'm always worried he's spyin' on me, 'cause he does that sometimes, too."

Kyle and Stan exchange a glance. Kyle glances at the window that's facing Cartman's house. The blinds are tightly shut. No spying to be done there.

The redhead shakes his head, focusing back on the matter at hand. "Alright," he says, standing up and mentally bracing himself. "First thing's first - let's see the body."


End file.
